<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Wanting Out by The_Trashiest_Bisexual</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822229">Wanting Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Trashiest_Bisexual/pseuds/The_Trashiest_Bisexual'>The_Trashiest_Bisexual</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Clyde is a good friend, Communicating is Hard, Craig is a madlad, Edge - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M, RIP, References to eating disorder, Token is a good friend too, Tweek doesn't know what he wants, Tweek needing to get his shit together, endgame creek, lmao who does, that's right I said it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:22:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Trashiest_Bisexual/pseuds/The_Trashiest_Bisexual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>I want out.</em>" </p><p>Three words, rushed, barely a breath but painfully real. He hadn't wanted out, but at the time he couldn't tell the difference between suffocating anxiety and a suffocating relationship. Who the hell could do that at fifteen?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time had been after their break-up.</p><p>It was inevitable. Childhood relationships didn’t really last, and they’d gotten together in the fourth grade – let alone the fact that it had been to avoid drama, more than anything else. Still, they had stayed together and it became more like a close friendship more than a fake relationship, just with the added hand-holding and pet-names. It became a norm, so much so that neither of them thought too much of the fact that they used the word “boyfriend” instead of “best friend”.</p><p>At least, that was what Craig had thought.</p><p>Nothing out of the ordinary had happened that morning. Craig had made his way to Tweek’s house so they could go to school together, and they had held hands like they always did. Tweek was a little quiet, but that wasn’t particularly strange. Sometimes there was a disconnect between the thousands of conversations in his head and whatever the outside world was talking about. Craig had figured his parents had said something weird to him before school and had left it at that.</p><p>They’d been walking through the school hallways when Tweek’s grip on his hand had gone from too tight to not there at all, and when Craig turned to face him, there had been a few seconds of nervous compulsive spasming before Tweek had scrunched his eyes shut, pointedly faced away from him and said, "<em>I want out.</em>"

Before Craig could ask what that had meant, Tweek had already rushed off and into his next class. Craig didn’t have the chance to figure out what those words meant until after school when he texted Tweek to see if he was okay, and received the response of “we cant be together anymore”</p><p>Craig had tried to ask why, but he’d gotten nothing more than “I feel like I cant breathe maybe we should stop”</p><p>He didn’t get it. He didn’t know why Tweek thought they’d be better off not being together, but all it managed to do was cause some kind of painful twist in his stomach. He ultimately decided it was better not thinking about it when he felt something of a lump form in his throat, and figured that if Tweek didn’t want him around anymore, he was better off just moving on.</p><p>It had been nothing short of regret on Tweek’s end.</p><p>Three words, rushed, barely a breath but painfully real. He hadn't wanted out, but at the time he couldn't tell the difference between suffocating anxiety and a suffocating relationship. Who the hell could do that at fifteen?</p><p>Happy place. Centre. Counting to ten. Useless efforts that solved nothing. Did nothing to fix his breathing the times he’d forgotten how to live.<br/>
The first night he spoke to the walls.</p><p>Maybe he'd said something aloud - something his phone reacted to, because after all the hollow words and useless thoughts had echoed off of blank walls, his phone had pinged, and what had followed was: "<em>Send message to Craig Tucker?</em>"</p><p>He’d never shot up out of bed so fast in his life.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>" He hissed. It was said to no one. Himself. Whatever fucking spirit was stupid enough to haunt him if ghosts were real. Whatever wanted to listen. He grabbed his phone and sure enough, the screen was filled with paragraphs and paragraphs about "why did I leave you" and "oh god what am I supposed to do without you"</p><p>He wanted to puke.</p><p>It felt like an entirely different kind of suffocating to see all his thoughts spewed out over text. He'd never hit backspace so fast in his life. Kept hitting it. Hard enough the screen changed colour under his thumb even after all the words were gone. He didn't bother looking at their last conversation before exiting the app. Whatever they’d last spoken about was a whole different issue to his verbal vomit of words that didn't entirely make too much sense when they were spoken to walls.</p><p>The next time had been a month later.</p><p>To be fair, he'd fully intended on sending that message. It was meant to be some sort of apology, something along the lines of "I can't sleep anymore" and "you told me you were straight" and "I think I'm in love with you", but Craig didn't look him in the eyes anymore or even really acknowledge his existence at school, so what was the point of it all anyway? He stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the send button, but it only ended up going straight to "delete”.</p><p>The third time, he’d had no intentions of sending anything at all.</p><p>It felt therapeutic in a strange sort of way, to pour out everything that screamed in his head onto the screen and pretend for a moment that Craig would read it. That Craig would care. That Craig would take him back if he just apologised. Stupid.</p><p>Tweek didn’t think anything like that would actually happen. It had been five months since they’d spoken, and Craig was finally looking at him again, but his stare was hollower than the feeling that had made its permanent home in Tweek's chest. He never knew that it'd hurt more for Craig to look him in the eyes. He wished he didn't have to know.</p><p>He didn’t talk to their friends anymore, either. Not since he’d ‘broken things off’. It would have felt wrong; like he was trying to still be in their good books even though they’d all been Craig’s friends first, and to Tweek it made no sense that they’d give him the time of day after that. So he’d stopped talking to them, and they hadn’t tried to reach out to him, so he took the hint and kept hist distance. It worked out great when there was nothing to fall back on, and so drawing random sketches in his books or coming up with new tunes and melodies for piano became his preferred way to spend breaks.</p><p>He got into a routine with this: once a week he'd write a text to Craig - sometimes one line, sometimes one novel, but it was always just that: writing. Nothing sent. Nothing said. Just words on a screen that'd exist for no longer than the hour it took to write them, read them, and lie down, wishing for release but knowing it'd never come.</p><p>His exercise in self-therapy had stopped when Craig sent a message back.</p><p>Tweek hadn't even sent him anything. Just typed as if there was no one on the other end at all, and then as he went to delete, those achingly familiar typing dots appeared, and then he was deleting his message for a whole different reason.</p><p>The dots appeared and disappeared too many times for comfort, and after seconds that felt like hours, a message popped up:</p><p><strong>Craig Tucker, 9:42pm -</strong> Hey</p><p>Tweek almost cracked a smile at that. He imagined a dishevelled Craig, aggressively typing and retyping a bunch of lines, before settling with a simple "Hey". It was such a Tweek thing to do, that he found it hard to imagine someone like Craig agonising over a simple hello in the same way. The thought was still equal bits amusing and disheartening.</p><p><strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:43pm -</strong> Hey craig</p><p>He waited a total of ten seconds to see if Craig would start typing, before nerves got the better of him.</p><p><strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:43pm -</strong> Beeen a while huh<br/>
<strong>9:43pm -</strong> Sorry i just<br/>
<strong>9:43pm -</strong> I wanted to ssay hi but<br/>
<strong>9:44pm -</strong> F uck i just didnt want to ruin things or</p><p><strong>Craig Tucker, 9:44pm -</strong> It's fine Tweek.</p><p>That was marginally reassuring.</p><p><strong>Craig Tucker, 9:45pm -</strong> How've you been?</p><p>Tweek let out a relieved sigh at that. The conversation felt almost normal, as if they hadn't broken up and Craig hadn't shut him out just as much as Tweek had pushed him away.</p><p><strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:45pm -</strong> Yyeah ok just</p><p>Any elaboration on that question that didn’t explain Tweek finding a whole new meaning to the word drowning would be nothing short of a lie.</p><p><strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:46pm -</strong> Yea<br/>
<strong>9:46pm -</strong> How bout you??</p><p>Craig could be a bit of a slow-typer at the best of times. It had been a big cause of stress for Tweek before realising that Craig wasn’t ignoring him or preparing to write paragraphs about never wanting to see him again. However, it seemed to be causing that same kind of agony that had died out years ago, because he could no longer tell if it was just Craig being a slow texter or if he angry.</p><p><strong>Craig Tucker, 9:47pm -</strong> Fine.</p><p>Some of the discomfort in Tweek’s stomach unfurled at the response, but that ended up being short-lived when his phone vibrated again.</p><p><strong>Craig Tucker, 9:47pm -</strong> Actually that's a lie.</p><p>Tweak's hands felt sweaty and his fingers were shaking. It felt unfair, as if Craig shouldn’t be allowed to do that because of how notoriously slow he was online, and to someone who had more thoughts in a second than most people did in a minute, it seemed especially cruel for Craig to say that.</p><p>
  <strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:47pm -</strong> Whaat do you mean
</p><p>
  <strong></strong>
</p><p>
  After two seconds of no response, he sent another message.
</p><p>
<strong>Tweek Tweak, 9:48pm -</strong> Craig whats wrong<br/>
<strike><b>9:48pm -</b> Im so sorry i should have messaged i should ha ve been there</strike><br/>
<strike><b>9:49pm -</b> I didnt want to make you mad</strike><br/>
<strong>9:49pm -</strong> ?
</p><p>
Waiting for responses brought a whole new meaning to the word dread.
</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 9:50pm -</b> I don't know I just
</p><p>
<b>9:50pm -</b> Ok, here goes.
</p><p>
There it was; the agony of waiting for a paragraph from someone who texted a sentence in the time it took Tweek to text a story. He knew there was going to be a wait, and so that made it easier to continuously count to ten and mess around on time-killing apps, but only slightly. It was still a torture of pretending he wasn’t waiting for a message, and then checking notifications as if he’d either somehow missed it or his phone had decided to be particularly cruel and not show anything. When the ping did eventually sound, it felt like a lot longer than eight minutes had gone by.
</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 9:58pm -</b> When you said you wanted out I thought you meant you didn't want to be my friend, but I get it now. You wanted to date someone for real and so we had to break up. I'm sorry I didn't get that<br/>
<b>9:58pm -</b> I really thought you didn't want to be my friend and that really sucked, like big time. Maybe if I'd just asked you in the first place what you meant this would have been resolved.</p><p>Tweek was stunned to say the least.</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 9:59pm -</b> Did I read that right?
</p><p>
So much so, that he forgot to type a response.
</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 10:02pm -</b> Tweek?
</p><p>
The third message snapped him back into it and he was quick to say something back.
</p><p>
<b>Tweek Tweak, 10:02pm -</b> Yea you did<br/>
<b>10:03pm -</b> I was just thinking i guess sorry
</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 10:03pm -</b> Don't apologise.
</p><p>
That was a whole new thing to take in; Craig apologising for Tweek pushing him away. Then again, maybe he was apologising for not trying harder. Whatever it was Craig was apologising for, it felt more like him apologising for not knowing how to respond to Tweek’s emotions when not even Tweek knew how to respond to them.
</p><p>
  <strong></strong>
</p><p>
 It was nice to know Craig cared, but it weirdly hurt to know that Craig thought he was the problem, when all he’d done was try to understand.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
<b>Tweek Tweak, 10:04pm -</b> I didnt know what i was thinking i just needed everything to stop probably<br/>
<b>10:04pm -</b> I always want to be your friend i just fucking suck at showing it dude you know???<br/>
<b>10:04pm -</b> Im sorry<br/>
<b>10:05pm -</b> I always want to be friendswith you
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
It didn’t say everything it needed to, but Tweek hoped it was enough.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
<b>Craig Tucker, 10:05pm -</b> Ok.<br/>
<b>10:06pm -</b> You free tomorrow?
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
 Tweek never would have thought it’d be worse being friends than not talking at all, but somehow it was.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
 They couldn't hold hands anymore, and Craig no longer called him stupid pet names.  There were no more weekly sleep overs and suddenly it was acceptable for one-on-one time to become group hangouts. Nothing really seemed to change for Craig – or at least, the attentiveness went away and was replaced with relaxed companionship.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
It was everything Tweek wanted in someone who wasn't Craig; to be seen as a friend instead of a special case.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
 There were no more late-night phone calls when it felt too hard to breathe, or early-morning text conversations when the sheets felt too suffocating or his skin burned from the marks of jagged nails. There was an expectation of dealing with it on his own-- and he should because Craig had his own life and his own issues, but that level of trust no longer existed.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p><p>
 A stupid fake relationship felt more genuine than all his real friendships - but maybe 'real' was only for the good times, because Craig had been the only one to check on Tweek when he'd miss a day of school because the world felt too heavy, and now Craig wouldn't even text him if he missed half a week. Somehow, that hurt more than the expected silence from everyone else.
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <strong></strong>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was same as any other night ever since the habit had picked back up.</p><p>Write a message. Delete. Repeat.</p><p>It helped calm the gnawing ache, relieve the pressure. Bring order to the chaotic flurry of thoughts. It'd be so simple if it wasn't so necessary. So common.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak -</b> Tell me what I need to do</p><p>Delete.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak -</b> Tell me how to make it right</p><p>Delete.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak -</b> Why dont you love me anymore</p><p>Delete.</p><p>It had started up after around two months of talking again, and had become a pattern of sorts - open his messages, write out some text to Craig. Delete. It started in an episode, like all things did, but the episode ended with three days’ worth of no food being thrown up into a toilet and his pale reflection in the mirror staring menacingly at him. The colour should have returned to his skin when the nausea left, but instead all it left were deeper bags under his eyes and a whole-body shake that never seemed to go away.</p><p>He woke up to a flat phone, and when he finally put it on charge, he saw an unsent message from his phone that just said “please god i love you so much why does this have to FUCKING hurt i cANT”</p><p>It was deleted, but he couldn't remove the itch at the back of his throat or the dull stinging behind his eyes. As always, no tears fell, and he wondered if maybe things would be better if he could just remember how to cry.</p><p>Things seemed to change even more when Craig got a girlfriend.</p><p>He seemed happy, or at least Tweek thought he did. </p><p>Craig was nice to her in a way that he wasn't to anyone else - in a way that he used to be to Tweek.</p><p>He did all that chivalrous shit of holding doors open for her and carrying her bag and telling her she's beautiful whenever she tried to say otherwise. Tweek tried not to hate her, he really did, but something settled uneasy in his gut at the idea that she was the one that got to hold Craig’s hand instead of him.</p><p>Tweek had already long realised that what he felt for Craig was more than platonic. Maybe it had been around the time they’d broken up, because in the months following up to that all he’d been able to focus on was the uncomfortable flurry of <em>something</em> that’d stir in him when they stood close to each other, or the weirdly pleasurable unease that’d find place in his gut whenever they’d hug. Maybe it had been after they’d broken up, and he’d realised that the only reason he needed distance was because whatever that <em>something</em> had been was unfamiliar and intense, and even if it had been intense in a good way, it didn’t remove the fact that he felt like he was going to explode. Either way, it was there, and the distance only made that stupid feeling stronger, and knowing that Craig felt that terrifyingly amazing sensation with someone else was the loneliest feeling in the world.</p><p>If life was a play and Earth was the stage, then Tweek acted the hell out of the role of the kid who had it together - making up lies of why his ribs stuck out too much and why no amount of sun made him tan. He got 'A's and 'B's in his classes and was friendly at school and did all but freak-out in public. It was easy when he could just sleep the weekends away and his parents would sleep through his nightmares and he could forget to eat when coffee flowed through him like blood. No one asked questions, because there was nothing to ask when cuts from fingernails faded overnight and the smell of vomit washed off in the shower and a baggy hoodie hid the worst of whatever-the-hell else laid underneath.</p><p> </p><p>Craig had been in a relationship for two and a half months when Tweek accidentally hit 'send' instead of 'delete'.</p><p>It was an honest mistake when he'd barely slept more than a few hours over the last week and hadn’t eaten in the past two days. It was an honest mistake when the screaming in his head was louder than he could ever scream himself, and sometimes the 'send' button looked awful close to the 'delete' button, and some apps should really put the two buttons further fucking away from each other.</p><p>He'd started out writing like some journal entry - because keeping anything permanent was for pussies and it had always been easier telling Craig how he felt than it had been trying to tell himself. So, he'd started writing, and after he started, he hadn't been able to stop, because the shaking in his hands had stopped and those words had consumed the room around him.</p><p>He hadn't read what he’d sent. He hadn’t known he’d set anything at all until his phone lit up with call from Craig.</p><p>Suddenly the shaking was back because Craig never called him like that - not after they broke up anyway and <em>oh god why was Craig calling what's wrong why is he-</em></p><p>"C-Craig?"</p><p>"Do you need me to come over?" Craig’s question cut in before Tweek had the chance to say anything else.</p><p>"I... don't understand.” Tweek stared at the wall ahead of him, astounded. Unsure what to feel besides shock, “Why would you-"</p><p>Craig interrupted, "Your message, Tweek."</p><p>Tweek felt his blood run cold. The message. "W-what message. I don't know what you're talking about." He did. On some level he knew that he <em>must</em> have sent whatever he’d been typing for the last hour.</p><p>Craig seemed weirdly patient, weirdly edged with worry, "The message you just fucking sent me." The words had no heat to them. They were just urgent in their own sort of way.</p><p>"I-" Tweek unlocked his phone.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 11:52pm:</b><br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Sometimes i just feel like a mess<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> I feel stuck between capable and whole where failure and not good enough lie<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Maybe if i work myself to death itll make a difference, change something. Make me feel whole. Something<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> I think im better i think im better i think im better i know im not<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Its always a lie<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Spilled over into too many late nights and not enough drive and too much to do with not enough time to kill<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Day. Night. Day night. Day.  Night. They all tick by slowly, too fast. I don't remember my days or my nights, i remember your face<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Why does this always have to hurt so much?<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> I think I’ll never get over it. I dont want to<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> How do i let go when all ive ever known is to hold on?<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> How the hell did you move on so easy<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> How the hell do you breathe<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> How do you live<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> How did you learn to stop loving me<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Why couldnt i do the same<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Why cant i help you<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Why cant i save me<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> You make me wonder about all the horrible things about myself. Step on eggshells. Because were still good but are we okay? Wheres the line? How do i know where to stop and start?<br/>
<b>11:52pm -</b> Maybe i was too good at holding onto the wrong things and letting go of anything that was you</p><p>There was a cut off "Tweek-" from Craig before Tweek had hung up the call so he could grab at his hair until it ripped out. It hurt. It still didn't hurt as much as whatever explosion was happening in his chest.</p><p>He couldn't breathe, but somehow it wasn't like all the other times. He felt like he was choking.</p><p>He didn't know how much time had passed - all he knew was that the bedpost felt cold on the back of his neck and his head hurt from where he'd been smacking it back against the bedframe repeatedly.</p><p>He could smell blood, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was from because it was under his nails and down his arms where he’d been clawing at skin too hard.</p><p>"Tweek."</p><p>There was a vague recognition of someone calling his name but it got lost under the horrible familiarity of that voice and Tweek saying, "No. No, no no no no nonononono-"</p><p>"<em>Tweek.</em>"</p><p>A hand grabbed his. It was warm, and kind of rough in a way that made Tweek want to run his fingertips over the skin. He didn't. He let the hand hold his.</p><p>"Talk to me, please." There was a voice crack on that last word.</p><p>He finally looked up as saw eyes that were too full of emotion and hurt and fear to be Craig’s, and he realised that it was only marginally better than them being hollow. He felt something of a sob wanting to escape, but the pain everywhere else was too overwhelming to take in whether anything really happened or not.</p><p>“Whyareyouhere?” The words came out rushed. He felt catatonic; stuck just beneath the surface of panic, and both feelings were equally overwhelming, “Why the <em>fuck</em> are you here didn’t you even read that message Craig stop doing this <em>I said I want out!</em>”</p><p>“I still don’t know what that means.” Craig spoke steadily, in a way that felt free of judgement or expectation or any of those terrible things that made Tweek want to stop talking altogether.</p><p>The words <em>I want out I want out I want out</em> replayed on a loop in his head so many times that he couldn’t keep track. “I – I don’t know!” He went to grab at his hair, but Craig grabbed his hand and suddenly the person he’d always wanted to hold his hand was holding both of them and it sucked because his own fingertips were coated in dry blood.</p><p>Craig tried a different approach. “What are you thinking right now?”</p><p>Somehow, that made it easier to be honest. It did little to take off the edge, though. “Nng—I like your hands they feel nice.” He stopped, closed his eyes, leaned his head back and took a breath. It was easier if he pretended he was writing a message he’d never send, “Why do you have to be so nice. I hate it. I hate it I hate it <em>I hate it!</em>” He smacked his head against the bedframe again. It vaguely hurt beneath the panic that had recached the surface, “I wanted to stop feeling like I’m dying but now I <em>always</em> feel like I’m dying and there’s no one to hold my hand anymore.” His head hurt. It hurt enough that he thought maybe he could finally fucking cry but no tears fell.</p><p>“You’re the one that wanted to breakup.”</p><p>“<em>You told me you were fucking straight you asshole!</em>” Tweek hissed back.</p><p>“I don’t understand you, Tweek.” The hands that were holding his let go and it hurt so much fucking worse than whatever-the-fuck else was going on. “You said you wanted out, so I gave you space. I gave you space and now you’re mad at me for that too.” Craig’s words held no judgement, but he was pissed off and Tweek could only tell that from them spending too much time together. It didn’t even matter anymore.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant!” He opened his eyes, stared at hands marked with dry blood and tried to focus on anything but the angry eyes fixed on him.</p><p>“Then what <em>do</em> you mean?”</p><p>Tweek kept his eyes on the carpet. It was easier than looking anywhere else in the room that’d just have stupid reminders of everything he’d ever done wrong in his life.</p><p>No amount of words could answer that question. There was nothing Tweek could say or do or write that’d give even a fraction of an answer. He didn’t mean what he’d said, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what he meant.</p><p>“I don’t know.” His voice was exhausted. Defeated.</p><p>“You need to get your shit together dude.” Craig sounded frustrated. He stood up, walked out of Tweek’s bedroom and firmly shut the door behind him.</p><p>If Tweek didn’t believe it was possible to fall any lower, he’d somehow just found out a whole new meaning to the word hollow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tweek didn’t go to school the following Monday. Or Tuesday. Or the rest of the week for that matter. He figured it didn’t make a difference if he went or not, because no one seemed to notice, or at least they didn’t bother to check in. If he missed anything at school, he sure as hell wouldn’t know about it, and his parents were too busy with work to notice a phone call from the school or anything along those lines. It worked out well; it was easier if people didn’t care, because it meant he could slip through the cracks and not exist for a while and no one would have to worry. No expectations. No commitments to make. Just silence from the outside world. It helped to focus on all the noise in his head anyway.</p><p>He was in the clear – or at least, he thought he was until his parents came into his room Friday evening talking about “missed calls from the school” and “Now Tweek, you know how important attendance is” because <em>of course</em> Tweek’s behaviour reflected on them and their stupid values and their business that was more of a son to them than Tweek ever was.</p><p>By the time the next Monday morning rolled around, he was woken up by a ‘concerned mother’ and tracked as he got ready for school as if were five years old. That was followed by being loaded into the car and physically dropped off, like he wasn’t even capable of making his own way to school. Although, he knew it was less a concern for his wellbeing and more a way of assuring he actually went to school and stayed there, because someone with four different anxiety disorders <em>surely</em> wouldn’t skip halfway during the day.</p><p>So, he walked into school and pretended people weren’t staring, because even though they most definitely weren’t anyway, he was still pretty sure they were. He went to his locker and put in a code that was motor-memorised to hand more than the actual numbers were to memory. He then grabbed books for a subject he was about 95% sure he had, because checking a timetable was an extra bit of effort that wasn’t worth it when he would have just stayed home if his parents hadn’t cared so much about their <em>precious</em> image.</p><p>.<br/>
.<br/>
.</p><p>After his last class had ended that day, Token decided it was a smart idea to pull him aside and ask something to the effect of “Are you okay? Are you really okay?”</p><p>The continued answer of “Yes”, “yes”, and “<em>forgod’ssake yes!</em>” hadn’t changed a thing, and suddenly the room was empty and it was only the two of them. Token had his arms crossed, using all of an extra two centimetres of height to act like he had Tweek cornered, when really, someone shorter than him could probably break one of Tweek’s bones because he never ate—but that was a whole other issue to do with too much anxiety and no solution to chronic nausea.</p><p>“We’re all worried about you dude.”</p><p>Tweek rolled his eyes.</p><p>“No, seriously, we are.”</p><p>“You could fucking call me!” Tweek threw a hand out and Token reflexively took a step back, staring at him with that awful expression of approaching a startled animal. “I’m not a fucking charity case or—or whatever you’re thinking! I miss a week of school and now you decide to ask me if I’m okay?!” He felt close to snapping, or something to that effect, and raised the middle finger with so much more passion than the gesture could never show. “Fuck you man. <em>Fuck. you.</em>” Tweek purposefully shouldered past Token, ignoring the soft “ow” he got in return and stormed out of the classroom.</p><p>He hadn’t been paying attention, determined to get out of school and potentially not go back, and if his parents tried to force him to go to school, then—</p><p>He bumped into Craig quite abruptly.</p><p>It hadn’t been intentional, because why would he seek out the only person that took his breath away and made him feel like he was drowning.</p><p>Craig looked down at him with an unreadable expression, somewhere between confusion and anger and hurt maybe – but too much of a practiced neutral for Tweek to really be sure after spending too much time apart to be able to read the intricacies.</p><p>There were too many buzzing noises happening at once. Something to do with <em>no no no no no</em> and <em>god why him of all people</em> and <em>the fuck does he want now</em>; at least, those were the easier thoughts to focus on. Less loaded. Less heavy. Tweek brushed past him, not ready to have some sort of dramatic confrontation; not wanting to think about it. He barely made a few muted steps before Craig asked, “Where were you last week.” It sounded more like a statement than a question, and he could already tell from Craig’s tone that an answer was expected.</p><p>Tweek bit back a response akin to “what the fuck do you care” and kept walking, but then Craig decided to grab him by the arm.</p><p>“Tweek,” He said, overly calm and overly determined, “<em>Where were you last week.</em>”</p><p>Tweek didn’t hold back that time, “Why the <em>fuck</em> do you care.” He yanked his arm away, and maybe his aggression had surprised Craig enough that he let go, because Tweek knew Craig could have held on if he was really that insistent. It wasn’t that important though, because Tweek didn’t spare a second to look back. There was no point when they weren’t even talking and he was too angry about the idea of being forced to go to school because of a family image instead of his own wellbeing.</p><p>“I’m not talking about this.” He added, before finally walking off.</p><p>.<br/>
.<br/>
.</p><p>He didn’t expect to get hospitalised for an eating disorder, or whatever equivalent was caused by extreme anxiety instead of extreme body issues.</p><p>No one had visited him while he was out of school, but then again, he doubted anyone other than his parents knew something had even happened. He’d collapsed during dinner – and that in itself had been some sort of irony because his parents had just been saying how he was “all skin and bone” and “you need to eat your dinner”. Suddenly his ears were ringing a bit too much, and the unsettling feeling of his stomach churning became difficulty to breathe and swimming vision. Then he felt the bile rise in his throat, and he knew if he didn’t get to a bathroom, he would throw up all over the table, and that wouldn’t exactly sit well with his parents who were just trying to eat their food. So he stood up, but then realised <em>why</em> his vision was swimming because his legs were giving out and he couldn’t physically hold himself up, and then everything was black and the last thing he remembered was the obnoxious ringing in his ears.</p><p>He’d woken up in the hospital, and then there had been more concern from the doctors and nurses for his health than his own parents – who’d just warned him about passing out in public and how it’d impact their <em>business</em>. He’d tuned it out like white noise. It was the same thing with no solution.</p><p>He was only there for a few days, just enough to get him stable enough to leave. He got a warning that the next time would involve involuntary hospitalisation, and not in the we’re-just-keeping-you-here-long-enough-to-gain-strength kind. He also got some kind of warning that if he didn’t fix his diet, he could die of some kind of malnutrition or organ failure or one of the many horrible things prolonged starvation caused.</p><p>The thought of death should have scared him. Or something. Usually that demon known as anxiety would rise from its depths and cause some kind of breakdown, but all he could feel about it was relief.</p><p>He went back to school the day after being released from hospital, because his parents had started to be more on top of his attendance ever since they’d decided that his education was important. It was the usual; not going out of his way to talk to anyone, and actively avoiding conversation if someone tried to start one. He had little patience for people that only pretended to care when proximity made it convenient for them.</p><p>Fortunately, the day went past with no surprises. Everyone seemed to mind their own business, or at the very least keep their questions to themselves. He received something along the lines of concerned glances from Token, but if he wasn’t going to say something, Tweek certainly wasn’t going to initiate anything.</p><p>The “no surprises” thing changed that night when Tweek heard his phone buzz where it sat on his desk. He picked it up, and sure enough, he’d received a message, although he’d been about 70% sure he was reading the name wrong until he’d unlocked his phone and entered the messaging app.</p><p>Sure enough, the name remained as clear as day.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:32pm -</b> Hey man hows it going?</p><p>The last thing Tweek had expected was to get a text from Clyde. He’d been back at school for all of one day, and just like every other time he’d been absent from school for more than half a week, he hadn’t assumed that anyone would bother to check in. The text was there though, clear as day. At first, he considered just ignoring the message, but his own curiosity ended up getting the better of him.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:33pm -</b> Yyeah alright howre you???</p><p>As predicted, it didn’t take more than ten seconds for Clyde to send something back. He’d always seemed to be a decently quick typer himself, and that was at least one thing Tweek had appreciated about him. It was refreshing when he was so used to Craig’s snail pace of answering messages.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:33pm -</b> Yeah Im good just wanted to check in<br/>
<b>6:33pm -</b> Youve been missing a lot of school and we’re all worried</p><p>That hit Tweek in a way that made the room spin a little too quickly, because he couldn’t understand why Clyde was worried about him, but then the message had said we. He couldn’t fathom who else would be ‘worried’ about him, since he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a good year. It caused a confusing mess of something he decided to label as anger.</p><p>
  <strike><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:34pm -</b> Why the fuckk are y ou worrried now you fucking assholw</strike>
</p><p>He deleted his words. It was becoming second nature by that point, but that wasn’t why he did it. The fight just wasn’t worth it – not when it’d just cause more unneeded drama and resolve nothing. </p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:34pm -</b> Im ok just been sick<br/>
<b>6:34pm -</b> Its fine</p><p>In his defence, it wasn’t a complete lie. Clyde’s messages pinged through faster than usual.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan 6:34pm -</b> Oh shir<br/>
<b>6:34pm -</b> Shit***<br/>
<b>6:34pm -</b> Everything okay man?</p><p>Tweek didn’t really want to tell him more, but he had this nagging feeling that Clyde wouldn’t drop the issue, and Tweek was getting more and more tired of trying to pretend – especially after just getting out of hospital. If he was apparently going to die anyway (ignoring the fact doctor had said he <em>could</em> – not that he <em>would</em>), he might as well be honest about it. Loosen up, or something like that.<br/>
He took a deep breath, something to quell the nerves that threatened to form whenever he tried to say the truth of things – the truth that things weren’t all great, and that sometimes it was very, very not great.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:35pm -</b> Well uh</p><p>He felt his fingers tremble as he typed.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:35pm -</b> I was in hospitak last week actually<br/>
<strike><b>6:35pm -</b> Its no-</strike></p><p>Before he could finish that thought, a barrage of messages came through from Clyde.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:35pm -</b> Wait WHAT<br/>
<b>6:35pm -</b> WHAT<br/>
<b>6:35pm -</b> TWEEK YOU WERE IN HOSPITAL OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED</p><p>There it was, the reaction he’d been dreading. He didn’t want people to worry, not like Clyde did. Clyde made it sound so serious and <em>oh god I <b>could</b> die this is a big deal what the fuck what the fuck what—</em></p><p>Even his phone was beginning to shake in his hands as he frantically typed a response.</p><p><b>Tweek Teak, 6:36pm -</b> Clyde pleasee stop its freaking me the fuck out</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:37pm -</b> Sorry man but WHAT<br/>
<b>6:37pm -</b> Ok i’ll stop but Tw e e k<br/>
<b>6:37pm -</b> You went to HOSPITAL and didn’t even tell me??<br/>
<b>6:37pm -</b> What happened? Youre not dying are you?</p><p>Tweek would have appreciated the concern a lot more if Clyde wasn’t so damn dramatic. It made him feel like he needed to comfort someone else as well as himself, because exaggeration and paranoia just didn’t tend to mix too well.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:39pm -</b> Tweek???</p><p>He took another deep breath.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:40pm -</b> For gods sake stop</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:40pm -</b> Sorry</p><p>Once he was sure that Clyde wasn’t about to send another string of messages his way, Tweek began typing out what had happened.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:41pm -</b> Ok so</p><p>He could feel his thumbs trembling where they hovered over the keys. It took a moment to find the push to put thoughts to text.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:42pm -</b> I guess i really havennt been eating rihgt because I maybee sorta pas sed out??<br/>
<b>6:42pm -</b> And they thought i had an eating disorder or something i don’t knoww man<br/>
<b>6:42pm -</b> They were adking me all these questionns about if i made myself throw up or restricted diet and<br/>
<b>6:43pm -</b> It was kinda s c ary<br/>
<b>6:43pm -</b> Well anywsy apparently its really bad because if I pass out again I get committed which is great<br/>
<b>6:43pm -</b> That’s a joke</p><p>Once he’d started typing, the words had just flowed out like they always did, and then the problem came that he was saying too much instead of not enough. He paused for a second, briefly considering reading over what he’d said to see if it made any sense, but then the finality of being involuntarily committed seemed to sink in, and his fingers were back on the keys before he could really think about it.</p><p><b>Tweek Teak, 6:44pm -</b> Im kind of scared. I don’t waant theem to lock me up cly de</p><p>As usual, he didn’t need to wait more than a few seconds before his phone pinged.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:44pm -</b> Ok woah<br/>
<b>6:44pm -</b> Give me a sec dude that’s a lot to take in</p><p>That made something of a cold sweat run down his back. Clyde’s response made everything feel more serious than Tweek wanted to believe it to be, and he almost wished that Clyde would have overreacted, because at least it would have been familiar. It was frustrating, not being able to know which one he thought was worse. Maybe predictable was more comfortable, even if it ended up being more stressful than the unknown.</p><p>The fact that Clyde took an entire two minutes to message back only made it worse.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:46pm -</b> Are you starving yourself? Do I need to force feed you??</p><p>That message surprisingly made Tweek laugh. Maybe because it seemed like Clyde was trying to work some humour in there, even if his question was probably meant to be a serious one. Maybe it was just because Clyde managed to make his reactions unintentionally moronic to the point it was funny. Either way, it made Tweek feel a little better about things.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:46pm -</b> I mean i guess i am but no y ou don't<br/>
<b>6:46pm -</b> Its not on purpose or anything<br/>
<b>6:47 -</b> I dont thiink im fat if thats what you mean<br/>
<b>6:47pm -</b> I think its anxietyy tbh</p><p>He hoped that explained things properly.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:47pm -</b> Shit dude<br/>
<b>6:47pm -</b> Why didn’t you tell us?</p><p>There was no reason he’d tell his old friends – let alone Clyde. They didn’t speak anymore, and if any of them had really been worried, they could have tried to keep in touch. Tweek may not have reached out to them, but he never stopped them from doing the same. It was too little too late.</p><p>
  <strike><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:47pm -</b> Why would I</strike>
</p><p>He backspaced the message, taking the time to consider a better way to word it. Maybe they had tried reaching out. Maybe they thought school was the best place to ask. Maybe Craig had told them to leave him alone, because he’d been going through something and Craig genuinely thought Tweek needed the space. It was easier to just assume that things were completely over.</p><p>In the end, he couldn’t think of another way to word the question.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:49pm -</b> WHy would i??<br/>
<b>6:49pm -</b> Its not a big deal</p><p>That wasn’t believable, not even to Tweek.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:50pm -</b> Ok maybe it is but</p><p>He didn’t know where to go with that.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:50pm -</b> But????</p><p>He had no idea how he was supposed to address that. He wanted to tell the truth, that it was maybe sort of partially his fault for pushing everyone away, but also that they never really made him feel welcome outside of being Craig’s boyfriend. At least, that was how he had seen it for so long. It was difficult to look at it any other way. It was difficult to put any of that into words because communication was hard, even if it was a friend and not a boyfriend.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:51pm -</b> ?</p><p>The reminder to respond didn’t help him think of how to approach that subject. It felt too loaded – too heavy to think about while the weight of his recent hospital visit and Craig not being there and everyone being too distant to reach was circling his mind.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:53pm -</b> ????????????</p><p>It was exhausting; feeling so on edge as if his life was one second away from falling apart all the time. It made it hard to think straight, although maybe that explained why all he seemed to be good at was lashing out. It made sense, but it didn’t make him hate it any less. </p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:54pm -</b> I didnt think youud want to kn ow</p><p><b>6:54pm -</b> Since I broke craigs heeart or whatwver</p><p>It was easier when no one cared. It didn’t make him think about how flawed he was – how he wasn’t good for anyone.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:55pm -</b> Dude<br/>
<b>6:55pm -</b> You’ll always be our friend dont you know that??<br/>
<b>6:55pm -</b> Im sorry that wasnt clear but its true

</p><p>Seeing those words appear on his screen should have made him feel better, but it seemed to do the opposite. They cared, supposedly, and all he’d done was push them away and shut them out because – Craig ? Because it wasn’t possible that he’d been their friend too when Craig was there first, but apparently that was wrong because even Token had tried to check on him and – <em>why is it so hard to believe that people could care? Why does trusting have to hurt so much?</em></p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:56pm -</b> Craigs fine don’t worry<br/>
<b>6:56pm -</b> Or well maybe worry a little?<br/>
<b>6:57pm -</b> Its not your fault though. He just broke up with his gf is all

</p><p>Tweek felt like he finally understood what people meant when they said their heart stopped. That feeling as if a beat was missed and time stopped and it all stopped because <em>what?</em> It was the only thing he could really think, because everything felt a little fuzzy around the edges the second the shock of that news gripped his lungs.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 6:57pm -</b> WhAt? What haapeneed?</p><p>The mass of texts started coming through from Clyde.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 6:58pm -</b> Yeah dude<br/>
<b>6:58pm -</b> Kind of tragiv acrually<br/>
<b>6:58pm -</b> Tragic actually****<br/>
<b>7:00pm -</b> Guess it wasn’t working out or something. Have no idea what happened. He just kind of went up to us and said im not dating Veronica anymore and that was the end of it<br/>
<b>7:00pm -</b> I tried to ask what happened and he didn’t say<br/>
<b>7:01pm -</b> I feel like he misses you you know?</p><p>That last message certainly didn’t slip by. Tweek had no idea why Clyde would think that though. Seemed like a dumb thing to think and an even dumber thing to say.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 7:02pm -</b> Don’t tell him I said that or hed kick my ass</p><p>Tweek would have laughed at that had it been any other context, but the knowledge that Craig somehow missed him just did some combination of making his chest feel weighted and his limbs feel light and numb. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that information. Was Clyde telling him to try and contact Craig? Or was he just hoping that saying something would somehow get them to talk again? It didn’t really make sense, and all it ended up doing was combining with the mess of everything else that was swimming around his mind because <em>why the fuck would he miss me? He hates me he fucking hates me I pushed him away because I didn’t know what I want I never do—</em> </p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 7:06pm -</b> Tweek??<br/>
<b>7:07pm -</b> Please don’t tell him that dude<br/>
<b>7:07pm -</b> Come on bro</p><p>The buzzing from his phone brought him back enough that he thought yeah I should probably at least answer so he doesn’t think I’m snitching.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 7:07pm -</b> I wont<br/>
<b>7:07pm -</b> I just neeed time to process<br/>
<b>7:08pm -</b> I thi nk</p><p>He was done talking for the night. Clyde had somehow provided him more than enough to think about.</p><p><b>Tweek Tweak, 7:08pm -</b> Bye</p><p>A last stream of messages came through from Clyde, but Tweek didn’t take the time to check them until some of the noise in his head became a little quieter.</p><p><b>Clyde Donovan, 7:09pm -</b> If you pass out again fucking call me<br/>
<b>7:09pm -</b> Wait<br/>
<b>7:09pm -</b> You’ll be unconscious<br/>
<b>7:10pm -</b> Text me then<br/>
<b>7:10pm -</b> K see you later take care of yourself and eat a sandwich ily no homo</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days after that conversation, Tweek’s bedroom door abruptly swung open while he was home alone, messing around on his keyboard.</p><p>Before he could react, a voice that was very distinctly Craig loudly announced, “Dude, what the <em>fuck.</em>”</p><p>Tweek barely had the chance to turn around in his seat before his bedroom door had been slammed shut – the sound causing him to slam his fingers on the keyboard in a way that made him cringe from the loud, off-key notes that spewed from the fuzzy speakers. “Jesus Craig – <em>whatthefuck</em> are you doing?!” He exclaimed, incredulous, because last time he checked, Craig was pointedly out of his life and in the arms of that girl and—they did break up, according to Clyde. It wasn’t like he forgot that tiny detail when it had become all he could think about ever since talking to Clyde.</p><p>“No dude. I asked you first.” Craig strode up to him, anger radiating off of him in a way that made Tweek wonder if Craig was actually going to beat him up. He didn’t have too long to dwell on it. “Why the hell did I have to learn from Clyde that you went to the fucking hospital?” Craig demanded, and without asking, he grabbed Tweek’s wrist – yanking him out of his seat.</p><p>“<em>Hey!</em>” Tweek snapped, but Craig seemed too focused on inspecting his arm; and found a protruding wrist-bone and skin drawn too taut around fingers.</p><p>It made something in Craig click, because his grip loosened and his eyes shook in a weird way that showed too much emotion for someone who never liked showing more than a middle finger. “I fucking knew it.” He said, more to himself than to the person in front of him.</p><p>Tweek ripped his arm away, cradling it against himself defensively. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?” He spat, doing his best to ignore the way his body vibrated with too much emotion, “You can’t just fucking grab me you dick!”</p><p>“Why the fuck haven’t you been eating.” Craig asked, but it came out more like a command than a question. Whatever swirl of undecipherable emotion from before was still there, but it looked almost like he was trying to keep himself in check – as if even asking a question made him angry.</p><p>“Don’t change the subject!” Tweek could feel his breathing happening too fast and too heavy, but all he could focus on was the anger coursing through him faster than his own blood. “You told me to get my shit together and <em>whateverthatmeans.</em> Then I don’t hear from you for what? A week?” He gritted his teeth in some effort to stave some of the fury that was threatening to surface, although it didn’t really work, “And that’s— you only talked to me again just because we were at school?!” He felt like he needed to punch something; at least until that stinging edge decided to leave so he could think straight again. Something in him snapped, and whatever sliver of self-restraint he had burst. “<b>FINE!</b>”</p><p>He grabbed the closest thing to him – a Rubik’s cube Craig gave him for Valentine’s day about two years prior – and hurled it at the wall as hard as he could. It punctured the wall and some of the cube pieces popped out of their places. He felt like it should say something about symbolism, something to do with being a reflection of their relationship and how it shattered because of him, but all he could feel was angry as well as the distinctly stupid urge to cry because all he was good at was breaking things apart.</p><p>There was something off about him – ready to snap, and he couldn’t quite quell that feeling of needing to hit something. His eyes were bright and wild, and he was pretty sure he was coming off as a little more than unhinged. Just like with the news that he could die; he found he weirdly couldn’t bring himself to care. “I was in hospital because apparently <em>I could die</em> and maybe I should be freaking out about that but you know what? I don’t fucking care man! I don’t care because maybe if I was dead <em>allthisnoise</em> would stop!” He felt light-headed, and he was pretty sure if he passed out again, he was going to wake up in some sort of ward. He held himself up on the edge of his dresser for safe measure.</p><p>“Tweek,” His name sounded weirdly strained coming from Craig, as if he somehow cared what happened. Craig walked towards him, ready to make another grab for him.</p><p>Tweek pushed him back as hard as he could, and it turned out that was enough to push Craig back a few steps. “I TOLD YOU DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” He screeched. It didn’t seem to make a difference because he could feel himself falling forward, and then Craig was grabbing his arms to hold him upright and Tweek desperately wanted him to let go, but there was no point to doing that and they both knew it.</p><p>“<b>Stop already.</b>” Craig sounded somewhere between frustrated and exhausted, but he refused to let go. He could feel Tweek’s body falling forward even as he held him up. “I never know what’s going on with you because you never fucking <em>tell</em> me.” The restraint was barely there, as if he was ready to just say ‘fuck it’ and leave because it was more effort than it was worth, yet for some reason he stayed. He bit back whatever insult or curse sat on the edge of his tongue, because finding out what the fuck was going on with Tweek felt irritatingly more important than retaliating against Tweek’s unhealthy coping mechanism of lashing out.</p><p>“<em>Ineedtositdown.</em>” Tweek looked out of breath and paler than normal. His gaze was fixed to the floor in some attempt to maintain a semblance of balance.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I need to FUCKING sit down Craig.” He snapped. Maybe if he hadn't been so pissed off and on-edge or had all those obnoxious black spots dancing in the corners of his vision, he could have appreciated Craig's restraint. Or maybe he hadn't stopped to think about how that patience had come with having some kind of 'boyfriend rights' about a year prior.</p><p>As much as Craig wanted to yell at him, he thought better of it and helped Tweek get to his bed. Once he’s sure Tweek was stable, or whatever it was he needed to be, Craig tried again to get some kind of answer. “You told me to leave you alone, Tweek.” He started, level and holding back every instinct to shout or flip Tweek off because he was kind of over all of it, but he wanted an explanation more, “And then you get mad at me for giving you space, and when I try to ask you why you tell me you don’t know.” He let out a breath, slow and controlled and tired, “And I want to know <em>why</em> I had to find out you were in hospital from Clyde.”</p><p>“Because you weren’t talking to me." Tweek sounded calmer, but that could have been because he had his head back and his eyes scrunched shut in some focused effort to regain stability, “It’s too loud, Craig.”</p><p>Craig was feeling what little patience he had wearing thin, but it felt like they made have finally been making progress. “What is?”</p><p>“Everything.” It’s more of an exhale than a word, “It’s too loud and I thought maybe if I could <em>think</em> everything would be less loud," Tweek found the words sort of spilled out of him when he didn't focus on them and instead focused on maintaining consciousness, "and I said <em>I want out</em> but I meant I wanted everything to stop being so much.”</p><p>“I-” Craig went to start something, but he felt too lost to actually comment on what Tweek was telling him. Instead, he decided to explore what he did know, “When I asked if you wanted to break up, you said yes.”</p><p>“<em>Youtoldmeyouwere<b>straight.</b></em>” Tweek finally opened his eyes again, and the brightness that was there got replaced with some weird lacklustre dullness. It was unsettling to look at.</p><p>“Why did that matter?” Craig asked matter-of-factly.</p><p>“Because you’re acting like it was real!” Tweek exclaimed.</p><p>Craig had a pensive look on his face, “Did you think it was real?”</p><p>“<em>No!</em>” Tweek insisted.</p><p>“Then what’s the problem?”</p><p>“I-” Tweek found the words weren't coming to mind anymore, and he had a passing thought that maybe if his words wouldn't work that his lips might, but he already felt like throwing up and he didn't think kissing Craig would fix that. Instead he sighed, drained, and flopped down on the bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. “I’m tired, Craig.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>The bed dipped next to him, and then Craig was lying on his back next to him, staring at the ceiling – far enough away that they weren't touching. Tweek was grateful for the space. Craig spoke, and he sounded too old to be sixteen. “I don’t know what to do, and I hate that.” He paused for a moment, letting those words hang in the air. He'd been thinking that for a while - ever since they'd been ten and it had become his responsibility to calm down Tweek for some reason. He found that he wanted to help, but all he'd learned was that the best he could do was support. “You’re like a fucking puzzle dude. I don’t know what you want.” It was heavy to say out loud, but it also provided some sort of relief. He ultimately felt a little lighter for it.</p><p>“Me neither.” Tweek shrugged.</p><p>Craig laughed at that, soft and almost not-there, “Tell me when you know that is.”</p><p>A comfortable silence settled between them – something which hadn’t existed for over a year; where birthdays and holidays had gone by and suddenly they were sixteen. It was weird, feeling so close to someone and yet so far away, because so much had changed and there hadn’t been the time or space to fill that in. The silence lasted for a total of maybe seven seconds before four words came to Tweek’s mind, and it seemed that having a filter got lost in translation because he said them before he could think better of it and try to take them back.</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>“What?” Craig asked in a weirdly aggressive way. He shot up from where he'd been lying down, and instead sat on the edge of the bed; rigid and intent on staring straight ahead.</p><p>Tweek couldn't tell what Craig was thinking, and it scared him. “I, shit.” He shot up too, looking at anything that wasn't the boy sitting next to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—<em>fuck-</em>”</p><p>“Don’t.” Craig started staring at his lap, expression oddly intense in a way that almost made him look sad, even though he never seemed to look anything other than mildly annoyed, “You don’t get to say that now.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah <em>Iknow,</em>” Tweek felt a hiccup somewhere inside and his stomach was turning in an uncomfortable way, “You only just broke up with Veronica and that was stupid I’m sorry <em>pleasedon’tgetmad I’m trying</em>.” Tweek paused for all but two seconds before before the silence felt too consuming. Breathing had become a massive exercise again, and he could feel himself teetering on edge of hyperventilating, “<em>Fuck</em> it just kind of slipped out Craig I get it okay you don’t want to-”</p><p>“<em><b>No.</b></em>” Craig snapped, and he turned his body to face Tweek but his eyes were still glued to the floor. He looked angry, “That isn’t fucking fair dude.” Craig tried to maintain some semblance of calm, but it was trying when one of his hands had tensed into a fist and he had that weird constipated look people get when they’re trying not to scream. “Every time I kissed her <b>I could only think that it’d be better if it was you.</b>” His clenched hand spasmed from the tension, and for a moment he looked like he was debating getting up and leaving. In the end he stayed where he was. “You don’t get to fucking do that now.”</p><p>“Wait.” The word rushed out of Tweek too quickly, and then he was looking at Craig but they weren't making eye contact, “<em>You like me?</em> Actually like me and want to kiss me and all that gay shit?”</p><p>Craig looked like he wanted to facepalm, but he managed to repress whatever urge was there and finally look Tweek in the eye, “Yes, dumbass. I thought it was obvious.”</p><p>“<em>Noitwasn’t!</em>” Tweek's answer came out as an awkward shriek, because <em>holy shit what the hell- how is this even happening</em> – “I didn’t know that! I thought you liked her dude! Do you know how much it fucking sucked hanging around you because I thought you didn’t like me back?!”</p><p>It took a second for that to register in Craig's mind, and once it did, all he could think was, <em>holy fuck we’re stupid</em>. “Dude. You can’t be serious.”</p><p>“What else did you think that text was about?!”</p><p>“How the fuck was I supposed to know?" As much as Craig wanted to sound annoyed, he couldn't feel much beyond amusement and a nagging feeling of hope, and all he could really think about was how much he wanted to kiss Tweek, "It was all cryptic and shit.”</p><p>“<em>Craig.</em>"</p><p>"Tweek.” Craig was as exasperated as his voice allowed him to sound. There was a strange fondness there, and he leaned in close enough that they were breathing the same air. There was a passing thought that it was sort of uncomfortably close, but Tweek found he didn’t mind it too much after the butterflies decided to kick in – and the feeling of anticipation and <em>something</em> was palpable when he was close enough to feel Craig’s warmth in the short space between them. Craig’s eyes were focused on his lips, and had it been anyone else, the feeling of being unabashedly wanted would be more terrifying and less electrifying. “You trust me, right?”</p><p>An almost silent “yes” rushed out of Tweek, and then Craig’s lips were on his own. He was able to vaguely acknowledge how soft they felt before the thought of <em>oh my god we’re kissing</em> took centre field, and then the nerves made his fingers tingle and his stomach summersault in a way that wasn’t too bad at all. It lasted for less than two seconds before Craig pulled back, just enough so he could look at Tweek properly. He did this thing where he rubbed circles on the backs of Tweek’s hands with his thumbs, and it did something to Tweek that made him somehow feel safe and a good kind of on-edge at the same time.</p><p>“Was that okay?” Craig asked matter-of-factly, always determined to show patience and restraint, even if he had a look that was intense in the way of <em>god I want to kiss you again.</em></p><p>“<em>Fuck yes.</em>” Tweak breathed out, and before Craig could say anything else, Tweek surged forward and closed the gap between them again. The kiss stayed simple; just repeated, gentle presses of lips, because Tweek was pretty sure that was all he could handle in one go. He felt like maybe he could try more, but he may need to just to get used to the way his stomach turned in a good way before then. It was enough, he thought, because if he’d managed to read the situation right, he was pretty sure they had a long time to try more than just kissing.</p><p>So for that moment Tweek just focused on how it felt to kiss Craig; the push and pull and how somehow it seemed to come to him naturally, despite all the worries he’d had that they’d bump noses or be out of time or just not on the same page. It felt normal, in the way of something he’d never done before, but came like breathing did on the days when he felt like he was swimming and not sinking. Craig was gentle, and he led in such a way that Tweek felt comfortable to follow and didn’t feel like he’d be rushed, and even if it was nothing more than the soft press of lips to his own, he thought it was something he’d never have enough of.</p><p>A good minute or so passed before Tweek eventually broke the kiss – when his brain stopped being so fuzzy from the overwhelming feeling of kissing Craig and his thoughts started to become <em>have we been kissing for too long?</em> and <em>oh god will he try to add tongue if we don’t stop?</em> He moved back, stare fixed on Craig’s lips because it felt weirdly easier than looking him in the eyes. “Craig?” Tweek asked. It made the room feel weirdly loud after how quiet it had become when they were kissing and not yelling.</p><p>Craig was still leaned in close, and somewhere in the mix one of his hands had found its way to the side of Tweek’s face, while the other maintained its grip on a rarely still hand. “Yeah Tweek?”</p><p>“Are we <em>datingnow?</em>” His voice did that thing where it went sort of shrill at the end, because even though he was around 85% sure of the answer, there was still that doubt. “For real – I mean.” He thought to add, just to make sure they didn’t make the same mistake again.</p><p>“Only if you want to.”</p><p>Tweek loved the gesture of Craig giving him a choice and trying to make sure there was no pressure, but Tweek sort of wished that he didn’t have to be the one to say it. It would have been easier if Craig just confirmed it for both of them. Still, Tweek looked Craig in the eye, ignoring the way his hand spasmed in Craig’s grip, and said, “Y-yeah. I want to.”</p><p>The sliver of a smile appeared on Craig’s face – easy to miss for anyone who didn’t pay attention. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the side of Tweek’s mouth. “Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As a dude in a gay relationship can confirm that asking your boyfriend if he wants to do gay shit is 100% accurate</p><p>tbh I think the overall message of this fic is that communication is hard<br/>Well anyway thanks for reading, always appreciate kudos and comments :)</p><p>ily no homo &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>